what the fuck are dreams,
yeah, they're important but they ruin your life.

You don't achieve them, you feel like shit,
you achieve them, you run the risk of losing everything,
you have too few, and you're called lazy,
you have too many and people call you fucking crazy,
but maybe you still want to try.

My dreams, they're all fake, lies I tell to people to make them believe I am real,
maybe I am real, but I don't know what it is to feel real,
maybe one day, these poems and writings will be my suicide note, but I have a life ahead of me that I am willing to appreciate to the fucking fullest extent,
but maybe, nobody will read them once I am gone.

There are reasons I hide from you, you will never understand me, and my mental health advisors just say,
thats the disease talking, but you know what, its always been me, because that is who I am,
and if you will stop talking long enough, you will know that I am nothing like you think,
I am someone different and someone flawed and fucking sick,

and for all of those just like me,
there's only one person I know of,
I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't see that you weren't okay,
I never realized that this, this skill was really a fucking curse,
a force to be reckoned with that destroys your mind as you sleep and eat,
and speak, it destroys every part of you, your love, your life,
your family and freinds, and you question if anyone really ever knew anyone else,

because I know for fucking sure,
that all of these things I have written and will write are very personal,
and I will be judged for them and use of profanity,
but I think to some extent when the right emotions are present,
profanity is the only way to express yourself.

So you know what?

I'm going to fucking express myself and life, my life,
with my crazy ass dreams, and hallucinations, and if you don't like it...

then okay, but don't think I'll listen to you complain.